Fated Meetings
by Avalon Estel
Summary: On a beach in the fall, two unsuspecting wanderers meet. AU, Modern-day. [One-shot: COMPLETE]


Fated Meetings

_By Avalon Estel_

_Disclaimer: "The Silmarillion" and all related characters, locations, and indicia are the legal property of the Tolkien Estate and I make no claims to it._

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Maglor walked solemnly across the sand, his bare feet being washed by the ocean's waves as they rolled in. The belt of his tattered brown trench coat dragged in the surf. His long dark hair trailed in the chill autumn winds. His harp was held tightly against his chest, and his grey eyes were trained on the ground. 

Incidentally, that was why he was unaware of the other being on the beach until he strode into him.

Papers exploded into the air as the other person fell into the wet sand, and Maglor's harp was clutched tighter to keep it from flying out of his hands.

"Idiot!" the other person cried, a tinge of an accent on his voice. Maglor got to his feet and rushed over to help the man up. "Why don't you watch where you walk?" demanded the blonde-haired man.

"I am deeply sorry, sir," Maglor said, semi-sarcastically.

"Apology accepted," the man replied, getting to his knees and gathering up the sections of the newspaper that he'd lost. He brushed sand off of his black sweater and jeans.

Maglor knelt to help him, and was surprised when he glanced at the date. "It's now 2005?" he asked, amazed at how unaware he'd been of years.

"Well, in _their _reckoning, at any rate," the blonde man replied, gathering the papers. "These mortals know nothing of time."

Maglor looked up sharply.

The man – or rather, Elf, Maglor suspected – gave a slight gasp. He laughed nervously. "Pay no heed to my words," he said.

"And why shouldn't I?" Maglor asked, standing and handing him the newspaper pages.

"Because it is nonsense," he replied.

"I beg to differ," Maglor said, shouldering his harp. "Especially if such words are uttered by my kindred."

The other cocked an eyebrow, studying Maglor. "I believe you," he said finally. "So you are an Elf?"

"Aye," the harpist nodded. "As are you?"

The blonde Elf nodded. "I am Glorfindel, Balrog-Slayer and Lord of the House of the Golden Flower. In one life, anyway."

"I have heard of you," Maglor nodded. "The ballads speak greatly of you."

Glorfindel laughed. "And you are?"

"I fear if I tell you, I shall have to beg forgiveness for my deeds."

"Come now, no secrets between fellows," Glorfindel coaxed. "It is not fair for you to know who I am, yet leave me in the dark."

"Speak not of being left in the dark, Elf-Lord, for I am Maglor son of Fëanor, and that is my doom."

Glorfindel gave him a pointed look. "_You_ are Maglor? The son of he who abandoned us in the Grinding Ice? One of those who doomed us with the Kinslaying?"

Maglor winced. "I have paid for my deeds, Lord Glorfindel. More than you know."

"But the rest of us remained shadows of your sins. The Noldor were ever disgraced and dishonored by your actions."

Maglor bowed his head. "I know. As I said, I have suffered for what I've done. Even now I suffer. Even now I can never return to Valinor and the light of the West."

Glorfindel's eyes suddenly registered a new emotion: compassion. "What became of the Silmarils?" he asked softly.

"My brother Maedhros took one with him when he fell to his fate. Of the second, I know nothing. I hurled mine into the sea." He raised his scarred palm. "Yet I still carry its mark."

"And the Valar take no notice of your wishes?" Glorfindel asked.

"Nay. If they do, they give no sign. I am doomed to walk these shores forever, the last of my kin and the only cursed of the Eldar now living."

"I am sorry," Glorfindel murmured.

"For what?"

"That one of my brethren must suffer so."

"There is naught you can do," Maglor told him, gripping his shoulder.

Glorfindel gazed at him a moment, then asked, "I've not much talent for music. Would you play a song for me?"

"What sort of song?" Maglor asked, looking slightly surprised.

"Something glad. Something hopeful." Glorfindel paused a moment, gazing at the sun setting over the ocean, dyeing it crimson and gold. "Something _good_."

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A/N: This is my first Silm-based fic, and I do hope I don't confuse anyone. I believe that Glorfindel of Gondolin and Glorfindel of Rivendell are one and the same, especially since in my copy of _Fellowship of the Ring_ Gandalf says that Glorfindel is an Elf-Lord of the Eldar from the First Age. As for Maglor, well, we were never told what happened to him in actuality, so I speculated. I hope you enjoy this, and if you review, please don't curse. 


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